


Go To Sleep

by veroreos



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing Teammates, Season 11 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:39:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veroreos/pseuds/veroreos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once in his goddamn life, Private Dexter Grif, Negative First Class, cannot sleep.</p>
<p>Takes place after the end of Season 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go To Sleep

For once in his goddamn life, Private Dexter Grif, Negative First Class, cannot sleep.

The man could lay down and nap during a battle if he wanted to, but here was different. Here it was cold and damp, the mattress was hard and uncomfortable and there could be fucking bats somewhere in here and honestly the whole camp reeked of death and the silence.

The goddamn silence.

For years he'd grown used to Simmons shifting around in the dead of night, or Sarge snoring his ass off from the other side of the base, or Donut staying up late with a flashlight under his blanket and writing in his diary like a goddamn girl and scribbling away until he eventually fell asleep and the flashlight burned out.

But here there was nothing.

Grif took the hard lump that the rebels tried to pass for a pillow and put it on top of his face, muffling most of the frustrated groan that he couldn't contain any longer. He was exhausted. He was tired, his body ached, he didn't want to think about what was coming up in the next morning, or the day after that, or the day after that.

He didn't want to think about how Sarge and Donut were gone.

He didn't want to think about how they might never be coming back.

Eventually he put the pillow back under his head and rolled onto his side, the mattress squeaking softly in protest as he turned and glanced to Simmons. They'd end up sharing a room while Caboose and Tucker shared their own, and the displaced familiarity was enough to make him a little sick.

But something was wrong with Simmons.

Not that Grif liked to watch Simmons sleep, but he'd known the man long enough to know that he liked to switch whichever side he was sleeping on every 30 minutes or so. He hadn't shifted in awhile though, and when Grif squinted his eyes to try to watch the man more closely, he could see that Simmons had taken the pillow and pressed it to his face. He was breathing, breathing heavy, with deep, shuddering breaths he managed to stifle into silence.

Simmons was  _bawling_.

Now that he was listening he could kind of hear it, the soft sobs, the gulping for air between mourning heaves and the quiet sniffling as he tried to breathe. Grif tried to cover his face again. No no no, Dick Simmons, don't you fucking do this.  _Don't you dare do this to me you son of a bitch._

It was only another minute or so before Grif was suddenly on his feet, walking over to the other bed. Simmons looked up, eyes puffy red with tears.

"Grif?"

"Scoot over."

Simmons looked confused but immediately complied, pressing his body to the wall so Grif could have room on the other side of the bed. The mattress was definitely not made for two people, but Grif wraps his arms around Simmons and pulls him close and suddenly Simmons is sobbing against his chest and Grif is burying his face into the other man's neck.

Grif eventually becomes accustomed to falling asleep with Simmons in his arms and crying himself to sleep.

It doesn't really get any easier though.


End file.
